


If It's You, It's Okay

by starcrossedlovers



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 22:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17394857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcrossedlovers/pseuds/starcrossedlovers
Summary: I will never hear your sweet voice again, but you will forever sing of love to me. I will never feel you again, but I will always remember your burning touch. I could never tell you how much you really meant to me, and so I suffer, pouring my blood into your veins, kissing your lips over and over again.





	If It's You, It's Okay

It would suffice to look into his eyes for Claude to understand, to understand all that he meant to the boy, all that he felt inside his heart for him. Alois wished he would, they never needed words to understand one another; their spirits had their own way of talking to each other. But he never did, he merely dressed him every morning and evening, like you would dress a marionette, while assuredly avoiding the boy's gaze. And still, he would never deny his feelings for Claude.

And so he found himself in the middle of the woods, rotting on the cold ground, slowly becoming one with the nature he so cursed. He could feel eternal sleep blooming in his chest, straining his lungs, the kind of sleep that numbs your body slowly at first, and then all at once. The flowers he was choking on were his favourite, he adored them. Bluebells always reminded him of _something_ , of his youth spent with Luca by his side, or of his time with Claude, which was so pathetically short but still so meaningful to Alois. A light laugh left his lips, suddenly remembering how his entire room was once filled with the scent of these buds. How could he not love him, devote his entire being to him, when Claude was so fascinating, so divine? Thereupon, Claude was destined to be the cause of his death.

His breast rose and fell gently with his breath, and he looked up to see warm, almost holy, sunlight bathing him, colouring everything in honey. All around lay a puddle of gold—the grass, the trees gently stirred in waves under the breath of the sun. Alois wondered if it made him look like an angel, like an ethereal being not from this world, but he would rather not ponder the answer, for the light was far too bright for him by now. And so he shut his eyes, clasped his hands together on his chest, or on his stomach, or at least _somewhere—_ he couldn’t feel where his hands were anymore—and dozed off. It didn’t matter anyway, nothing mattered anymore to him. That awe-inspiring feeling of the endless sky above him, of the soil underneath him—it made him feel so small, so insignificant, so absolutely senseless. It also evoked a tiny spark of gratitude inside him, however. He was thankful for being blessed with the ability to feel, to be tender—that was all that had any kind of meaning for him.

As he laid against the dark oak tree, he started to, or at least tried to, reflect on his life, letting his thoughts pass like soft, weightless clouds in the sky. And his lips curled into a warm smile. He truly wouldn’t have it any other way, he was sure of it. Alois had always been certain that his existence wouldn’t be something people mourned or weeped over, sometimes he could even swear that people would be trampling over his grave for one reason or another. He was alone, the boy often felt that he was abandoned by everyone in the world. No one was willing to listen to him, and he was used to being shoved aside and had long since forgotten his own voice, now just repeating unkind words other kids said to him, the kind of words that used to make him sob like a child but weren’t so important to him anymore. Sentimental emotions arose inside him, and he mindlessly indulged in them, something he had been doing an awful lot lately. 

Love. Love was the most precious thing to him, the most delicate feeling and most important reason for his entire being. To love and to be loved, that was all he had always been asking for. A small amount of love, some love every single day, every single month, every single year, forever and ever. An enormous amount of love, to be drowned in love, to be filled with it, to passionately die for it. He would be willing to forgive Claude for everything he had ever done to him, he was ready to become a completely different person for him just to receive the kind of affection he was desperately yearning for. To long for nothing more than to be loved—how pure, how beautiful, how eccentric. It was unbearable by now—his frail hands were trembling on his body, he was so cold by now, but it was so insignificant, so unimportant to him. He was marked by scarlet blood pooling around his swollen lips, around his frail collarbones, making him look like a tragic beauty, like an innocent deer shot by a hunter: so pure, but oh so polluted by the darkness surrounding it. 

His head slowly rolled to the side and he opened his mouth to inhale air, to say something, to cry for Claude—oh, how pleasant it would be if Claude was by his side, if he could hear his sleek laugh ringing in his ears—but he felt so weak, and so he simply lay on his would-be-grave, warm blood still somehow leaving his stained mouth and dripping on the earth. He appreciated the feeling of the fresh air on his skin and the wind blowing through his hair, lightly tickling his lips. Even before his death, something inside him seemed to have been reborn already. His existence was almost like a sacrificial offering for the light, airy feelings Claude gave him, for the attention he sporadically received from him if the man was in a lavish mood.

 

And, suddenly, the thoughts that were leading him to his end—to his new beginning—came to an abrupt halt.

 

And the air felt new and fresh.

 

And the bluebells aching inside him were finally blooming.

 

And his wet lids instinctively fluttered open to say one last farewell to his precious life, to his poor existence, only to see Claude kneeling next to his body, his hand reaching for his cheek to gently caress it.

 

And he opened his lips only to feel something warm on them, only to blink away happy tears, to warmly laugh with Claude.

 

 

_“I love you. I love you. Do you love me?”_

_“I did, I do, I will.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving kudos and/or a comment!


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